Three visits
by Scio Nescio
Summary: What if Sherlock's mind didn't just make up the prison cell in his Mind Palace when he got shot, but drew from actual memories? Sherlock can't help but visit his old enemy. After all he, hadn't seen him since the criminal had been placed in a secret prison cell after their last encounter. Do not read unless you have seen HLV! Summary with Spoilers inside. Rated M for safety.


**Update: **There is going to be a sequel. More at the bottom. Still looking for a beta.

**Summary: **What if Sherlock's mind didn't just make up the scenery when he visited Moriarty in his Mind Palace, but drew from actual memories? After the Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock and Mycroft made sure that Moriarty would stay locked up for all eternity, but after his recent imaginary conversation with the consulting criminal, Sherlock can't help but take a look at his old enemy. Massive HLV Spoiler.

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, but this story is mine. Sherlock does remember a couple of sentences from the show's dialogue. Those are obviously not mine.

Have fun!

**Three visits**

**First visit – What am I doing here?**

The guard in front of the room was watching the monitor intensely.

It didn't show the circular room or padded walls that Sherlock had seen on his last and – up to this point – only visit to this place, right after the fall. Without a word he went to open the door and stepped inside, taking a look around. There were a bed, a chair, a table, and Moriarty, sitting on his bed and staring at some random point on the wall.

He had probably found out already, who had entered the room even though he hadn't spared him a single glance. Or maybe he had not? Were they giving him drugs so that they didn't have to leave him all trussed up like a turkey as he had remembered so vividly while almost dying?

"I know you're here, Sherlock. I'm merely ignoring you." He droned monotonously without moving his eyes in Sherlock's direction. Apparently he still hadn't lost his touch completely, as he was able to predict his thoughts with amazing accuracy.

The detective slightly raised his eyebrows, before answering: "Now, that didn't exactly go well, don't you think?" Moriarty only grunted in reply, before silence spread between the two.

Sherlock wasn't sure whether he wanted to start talking or turn around and leave. He wasn't even certain about why he had come here in the first place, but Moriarty took that decision from him as he couldn't contain himself anymore – he was obviously beyond simply being bored.

"Alright, I can't keep this up, it's so boooring. So, why are you here?" Moriarty finally burst out, making eye contact at the same second. Already, Sherlock could feel his manic stare probing inside him, trying to figure out what his sudden and unexpected visit meant before he could give him an answer. "I mean, it has been what, two years? Two years, so I have all the right in the world to be very unhappy, very, very unhappy with you. There's just nothing. To. Do. Here. NOTHING."

Sherlock didn't flinch at the sudden outburst; too busy trying to figure out what to say.

"You got a different cell." He finally commented instead of answering Moriarty's question since he needed more time to figure out what to say. His statement was followed by another quick glance around the room.

"Oh, yes." He sounded bored and slightly annoyed at Sherlock not giving him an answer. "Got this one not long after you left me here." Obvious contempt towards that particular act could be heard in his voice now. "Once I had stopped biting the people that were trying to feed me and pissing on those that took me to the bathroom for a while, they decided to give me a little more freedom. They probably just didn't want to have so much work with me anymore. There are security cameras, though, in case I decided that life here is way more boring than not living at all. Not like I'd _actually_ commit suicide, but whatever. But aaaanyways, I did ask you a question."

"I almost died." That was the truth and pretty much the reason that he'd been thinking about taking a look at his old nemesis in the first place. Since he hadn't come here with a certain plan or for any specific reason, that was indeed the only explanation for his sudden visit.

"Did you, now? Mind telling me who it was and letting me out of this godforsaken, _boring_ cell, so I can teach that bastard not to play with my toys?" Moriarty's voice was sickeningly sweet and dangerously low – somehow both at the same time – His dark eyes boring into Sherlock's with a menacing glare.

"No."

"You're boring. Always _sooo_ booring." Moriarty whined.

_(It's raining, it's pouring, Sherlock is boring~)_

"It was John's wife." Sherlock deadpanned as his mind momentarily decided to relive the encounter with his very own version of Moriarty in his Mind Palace.

"Oh. Now that's what I call a plot twist. John has a _wife_! And she _shot_ you! You've been here for what, five minutes, and already you're keeping me perfectly entertained. Ugh, I absolutely _hate_ this place." He looked around, as if he was seeing how dull his prison cell was for the first time, before his eyes widened in obviously fake concern. "I've been sooo rude! Have a seat!" He exclaimed, pointing at his single chair. "Sadly, I can't offer you any tea, though."

Sherlock didn't move and Moriarty didn't press on, so more silence followed.

"Sooo~" Moriarty stretched the word to an annoying length before he continued his sentence. "That all?"

"Um." Being lost for words didn't happen too often. This had been a terrible idea. Maybe he had let sentiment take over his mind while it was all fuzzy from the morphine that they had given him at the hospital.

"Find a new friend to play with maybe?" The consulting criminal decided to help bring the conversation along in an obvious attempt to relieve at least some of his boredom.

"Magnussen. He is the reason Mary shot me." Sherlock paused for a couple of seconds, before he decided to humor his enemy at least a little and added with a chuckle: "Also, he peed all over my fireplace."

As expected, Moriarty started laughing – a quite mad sound, even more so than before his imprisonment. Once he was able to speak again, he had to wipe tears of joy out of the corner of his eyes.

"Oh, that's great. Never liked that man, though. Still, so typical. I bet he didn't even notice that you didn't care."

Hearing that Moriarty had correctly guessed that a little pee in his fireplace wasn't going to bother the detective who was used to having the stench of his many experiments lingering around the house every once in a while, actually made Sherlock smirk a little.

"Honestly though. That's not really sanitary. You should be more selective in the choice of your enemies. Next thing you know he'll be taking a dump on your bed and you'll have to make poor Johnny-boy clean it up for you," was then added in a very serious sounding tone. Sherlock still found it weird, how fast Moriarty was able to switch from one way of speaking to another. Slipping from mood to mood, putting on face after face.

"See, I'm a much better nemesis than that git. You could just stay here with me. We could be dead together. I bet you'd love it!" Now, a big smile was plastered on the consulting criminal's face.

_(You're gonna love being dead, Sherlock)_

A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine. His Mind-Palace-Moriarty had been so awfully close to the real thing – it was truly disconcerting.

Thus he quickly answered, as if to prove his words to himself: "No I wouldn't. I should go."

This had gone far enough. He shouldn't have come here.

"You know, you're my only visitor ever since the two of you left me down here." Moriarty remarked with a voice that wasn't quite as sing-songy as it usually was. There was almost a hint of desperation hidden somewhere in his words.

"Apart from the guys that give me my food and take me to the loo, of course. But I'm not allowed to talk to them."

"You're not allowed to have visitors. Of course you haven't seen anyone, since I doubt that Mycroft would decide to just drop by and have a chat with you." Sherlock stated drily, not fazed by being informed about something he could have deduced from the start. At that point he was more than ready to leave. Whatever the reason had been for even coming here, it had definitely stemmed from too high a dose of morphine. He was certain of that now.

However, Moriarty had his own theory and quickly switched into story-telling mode:

"So, poor Sherlock almost dies and as his life passes him by he thinks 'Oh darn, I should have used my time more wisely and played some games with dear old Jim instead of hanging out with all the boring ordinary people'." A snicker escaped the mad man's lips and his eyes were full of mad glee.

"Good thing you didn't die, though, because there's so much fun heading our way. I would've probably shed a tear or two even. Or not. After all you're the reason I'm stuck in this cell. Would've been quite funny if Johnny's wife had been the one to finally off you. Ah all these mixed FEELINGS!"

_(I'm laughing, I'm crying, Sherlock is dying~)_

"Bye, Jim." He had heard enough. Visiting his nemesis had left him with a sick feeling in his stomach and had only cost him time that he could've spent on John and Mary's relationship issues. Or Magnussen. Or anything, really.

"Hey, wait." Jim tried to no avail.

Not waiting for the other man to return the sentiment, he knocked on the door, waited for it to be opened and left without even giving Moriarty another glance.

"Wait, you can't leave, yet! SHERLOCK!" He heard his scream which tipped just over the brink of pure madness, but decided to ignore it.

After meeting his Mind Palace version of the criminal while fighting for his life, Sherlock had felt a strange need to check up on his nemesis. Especially, since it were some of mind-Moriarty's words that had shown him his reason to return to the living. He had opened his eyes and given him back the will to fight. Of course, none of this had anything to do with real-life-Moriarty, but he still felt obligated to take a look at his current condition. After all, he wouldn't have had mind-Moriarty if he had never met the real one.

As it turned out, however, the original was still as annoying as ever. And while some part of him enjoyed listening to the mad criminal mastermind, another part of him was simply terrified by how accurate his own version of the man was when compared to the real deal.

* * *

><p><strong>Second visit – This time, there's a reason<strong>

"Hello."

"You are back."

"So it seems."

"Any particular reason?"

"Yes."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No."

At Sherlock's dissatisfying answer, Moriarty rolled his eyes dramatically and gave a suffering sigh.

That pretentious, teasing git. If he hadn't been bored out of his mind ever since Sherlock had left him alone again, he would've assaulted the detective on the spot for being so terribly annoying. Never mind the fact that he was to keep a one meter distance to him at all times unless he wanted to be tackled down by the guard that was watching the video feed outside. Knowing that having to wrestle some big-muscled idiot was just the tip of the iceberg that made up repercussions that would follow if he initiated an attack on Sherlock, he decided to give him a murderous glare instead.

"So, how are things?" That one came as a surprise. Was Sherlock trying to engage in small-talk?

"I'm stuck in this cell, honey. What do _you_ think?" He asked surly in return, only hardening his stare. Maybe he could make the detective feel physical pain if he just concentrated enough. That would actually be a great deal of fun. He was definitely losing it in here. More so than ever.

Since Sherlock didn't seem to know what to reply to that, Moriarty took the initiative instead: "How's Johny? His wife try to kill you again? Oh, is that why you're back?" Of course it wasn't, he would've been able to figure it out if it was. But maybe this way Sherlock would tell him or at least accidentally give away a hint or two.

"It's not. They're both fine. I saved their marriage."

"Well that sucks." At least he gave Sherlock his honest opinion. The man should seriously appreciate that. Instead, it looked like the detective wanted to say something nasty to him but decided not to. Interesting.

"Okay, so maybe you just missed me?" New try then. At some point Sherlock just _had_ to give himself away, right?

"Not really." Moriarty knew that Sherlock was lying, but didn't correct him. No need to make him angry when he was trying to make him talk about his actual reason for coming here. Missing him wasn't strong enough a force to get him all the way to this cell. There had to be more.

"Sure you didn't miss me, dear~?" Some whining could probably help. Annoy him into revealing his plans. Sherlock's face didn't show the slightest reaction. Bugger. Why couldn't he just act as Moriarty wanted him to? Then again, if that was the case, he'd only have half as much fun playing games with him. Quite the dilemma.

Then, suddenly he noticed something.  
>Sherlock's fingers were moving with precision. 'Insult me.' They said. So he <em>was<em> willing to tell him what he was doing here. In a way. He wanted something from him. But what?  
>Moriarty gave him a scowl in return, followed by the tiniest hint at a shake of his head.<p>

'Insult me.' The light tapping of Sherlock's fingers told him again. He wasn't actually able to hear any sounds from them, but watching them from the corner of his eye was enough to decipher the Morse code that was cleverly hidden from the two cameras that were constantly keeping watch on the room.

An irritated and quite nasty look was thrown at Sherlock, who only winked at him in return.

'Make me angry.'

"_You're_ making _me_ angry, to be honest." Moriarty finally remarked, now definitely unhappy with Sherlock's weird behavior. Obviously, the man was trying to cause him trouble, so why would he even think for one second, that Moriarty would play along. Still, the potential trouble had to be rather exciting if Sherlock had actually come to visit him just so he could play a little prank. Maybe he should play along, have a little fun, and relieve some of this awful boredom.

'Make me attack you.'

Alright, so he hadn't had a chance to play around with Sherlock in years and now Sherlock was presenting him an unmistakable trap. Even so, wasn't walking into it still better than just sitting here and staring at a wall? Sherlock was offering him a game. A one-sided one most likely, but still some form of distraction. No more boredom for a while, however short it may be. Things couldn't really get much worse, really.

"Ugh, didn't you hear me? You're making me angry. Just standing there, staring at me. You just look. So. BORING."

Sherlock didn't twitch even though the last word was shouted right in his face. It would take much more to get him angry enough to attack him. Then again, what exactly _could_ he possibly say to give him a convincing reason to jump him? Annoying him on the rooftop had gotten him to almost push him over the edge of the hospital roof, so he knew it was possible.

"You should have brought John." He suddenly spoke in a sad voice, before turning it into a menacing drawl. "Could've finished what I promised. After all, you didn't really commit suicide, did you now? And you know what that means, right darling? Poor little ordinary Johnny will pay. Oh, but I won't be content with just shooting his brains out until they paint funny pictures on the floor. It'll be so much more amusing. Once I'm out of this stinking, boring hell-hole, he will be the first to suffer. Or maybe his fingers will be the first. Or his toes. Or maybe some other appendages. And then I can still skin him after-"

Now _that_ had done it. Just before Sherlock's hands had circled his neck and started squeezing, Moriarty complimented himself on a job well done.

Then, he was on the ground, desperately trying to get Sherlock's cold grip off his windpipe as his vision started to get blurred. 'So, did he want a reason to kill me?' He thought confused, while they rolled to a corner of the room. While they wrestled around, Moriarty frantically trying to get some air into his lungs, he felt that in all the up and down he was being steered into a certain direction.

Suddenly, Sherlock's grasp on him loosened just the tiniest bit, which caused Moriarty to quickly free himself by pushing his attacker's arms away from him. However, he didn't get much of a break as one of Sherlock's hands was swiftly balled to a fist and brought down on his face.

That wasn't what mostly occupied his mind though, because at the same time, he felt a cold hand slip under his shirt, making him freeze in confusion. Thus, he took another blow without even being able to try and fend it off.

"It's no fun if you don't fight back." Sherlock then remarked as Moriarty was barely able to stare up at him. Something was sticking to his side. The man that was currently straddling him and looking down on him with obvious contempt had somehow deposited an object on his person by pretty much gluing it to his side, just below his armpit.

"No touching." Sherlock said. "_No touching unless you're told otherwise._" Another wink. What was up with that? It just looked plain creepy, when Sherlock was winking at him. "You know you're supposed to stand at least one meter away from me at all times."

"What? You jumped me!" So he wasn't supposed to touch whatever Sherlock had slipped him – Unless he was told so.

"_It won't be any use_ – Your arguing, I mean. You know, the guards are always watching."

As if on cue, the guard that was stationed outside decided to stick his head inside. He had a nasty grin on his face and had obviously enjoyed watching Sherlock assault the consulting criminal, knowing that no one would come to help him.

"I believe that everything is under control." Sherlock stated drily, got up and took a step away from Moriarty with a disgusted glance. "As you can see, we've been keeping our one meter distance."

The guard laughed. Another person Moriarty would just love to skin. Or boil. Or gut. Anything, really.

"Well, since you have already unlocked the door, I might as well leave." Sherlock then sighed. "It's been nice seeing you, Jim. I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble. I take full responsibility."

Moriarty only stared after him, as he left. Unable to lift himself off the floor just yet, as he was still contemplating everything that had happened.

Once he had managed to sort himself out, he got up to his feet, careful not to make any sudden movements so that whatever Sherlock had left for him didn't fall off of him.

From what he could tell, it stuck to him by means of double-sided tape, which meant that it wouldn't stay put for all too long – especially if he decided to move around too much. Thus, he gently sat down on his bed and started analyzing the information that Sherlock had given him while intently gazing at the wall.

Their little scuffle had made sure, that no one had managed to notice what had transpired in those few seconds, since the security personnel was probably too focused on watching Sherlock punch his face. Also, the positioning of the detective's body in front of both cameras had allowed him to completely hide the object from view, so even if someone hadn't been paying particular attention to the more violent section of the screen, they still wouldn't have seen what had happened.

Then there were his messages.

Moriarty was not allowed to make use of whatever he had received at the moment. This was easy to understand, as the guards wouldn't take long to figure out that he had come to posses something that he wasn't supposed to have. However, there was no benefit in giving him anything he couldn't use either. He was pretty certain that Sherlock didn't try to get him into more trouble, as the security footage and the fact that Sherlock had been his only visitor would certainly lead to him at least being partly to blame for whatever would happen.

So, he had to wait for some form of notification, for someone to _tell_ him to use it. He could do that. Just a couple of hours of boredom and trying to figure out what Sherlock was planning, before he could continue with the game.

To be honest, he was quite glad to be playing again. Sadly, he wasn't the one orchestrating the whole thing at the moment, but with his boredom reaching new heights every single day, he didn't much mind being the one that had to go along with whatever rules the other could come up with. In fact, it was quite refreshing.

Hours passed by, but Moriarty didn't really get nervous at possessing something, that would most likely cause a lot of issues for him if it was found. Either Sherlock would let him use the object, or he would take the blame. Even if he didn't turn himself in for passing something on to him as he had hinted before he had left, he would still have to face the incriminating evidence of the cameras. All Moriarty had to do was wait. Wait and be bored. So bored.

"7259"

What had just happened? Sherlock's voice had reached Moriarty's ears while he was laying on his bed pretty much being bored out of his mind. The door hadn't been opened, Sherlock hadn't entered the room. How could he have possibly heard-

His hands flew to his side, under his clothes, gripped the object, and pulled it off, ignoring the sting as the sticky tape let go of his skin. A phone. He knew he only had seconds.

Hoping, the guard wasn't paying too much attention, he punched in the numbers. 7259. Unlocked.

The first thing that he saw was a text, which had caused the unusual ringtone that Sherlock had set up for the phone to tell him the password.

1. Get rid of the evidence linking me to your disappearance.  
>2. Make sure everybody knows you escaped. Be creative.<br>3. No skinning John.  
>-SH<p>

Moriarty suppressed a laugh as he reminded himself of the fact, that he only had minutes, if not seconds to put his gift to good use.

* * *

><p><strong>Third visit – House call<strong>

Sherlock had said his second goodbyes to his best friend at the airport, as he entered a car that would take him back home. Anticipation coursed through his body as the taxi brought him closer and closer to Baker Street.

He wasn't surprised, when he found Moriarty sitting in his chair and snacking on the single apple that he had left for him. Of course he had had to get rid of all the comestibles in the house, since he was supposed to have left the country at this point, but that didn't stop him from leaving a little gift for the consulting criminal. Apparently, he had also found the few bags of tea that he had left behind, because his tea pot stood on a table, steaming and accompanied by two cups. Sherlock hadn't expected Moriarty to make tea. Maybe he had gotten out much quicker than anticipated which had left him wandering around the detective's empty house with nothing else to do.

The criminal was wearing his trademark suit instead of the baggy prison clothes. Also, he seemed to have spent some time to completely revert back to the way he had looked before his forced stay with the government. It seemed almost, as if he had simply shaken off the previous two years and continued right where he had left off.

"Was my little 'hello to the world, I'm finally back' creative enough?" Moriarty asked without showing too much of an interest in Sherlock's answer. It was merely an opening to their conversation.

"Yes, thank you very much." Sherlock's voice was cold as he sat down in John's chair that had recently found its way back into the usual place. None of them spoke a word until both had a cup of tea in their hands.

Then, Moriarty returned to their conversation with his usual up-and-down drawl: "I hope you understand when I don't feel like thanking you for getting me out of the cell that you got me into. Well, actually, you did wreak some havoc on my network – destroyed rather big chunks of it. Daddy's quite cross, to be honest."

Sherlock shrugged as mad eyes seemed to stare wholes into his very existence. "You should be glad to be out of that cell, so don't get caught up on trivialities. I suppose you already know why I let you escape?"

A bored yawn answered his question. "Of course I do. Although I must admit, at first I couldn't believe that you actually shot someone in front of your little pet and a bunch of government people. Actually, why do you even ask if I know? Why wouldn't I know? Who do you think I am?"

"I don't know. Someone who spent over two years isolated in a cell, because he wasn't good enough to win against me? Just guessing." The teasing tone and condescending glance had caused Moriarty to scowl madly and lose his relaxed posture.

However, it didn't take too long until the criminal regained his composure and sat back comfortably in Sherlock's chair again. "You did get your promised fall, even though the destination wasn't the one I had desired. But there _is_ something else that I promised you, dear, yet failed to deliver to this point. After all, I told you that I would make you burn. There hasn't been any of that just yet. I hope you are ready for the next round of games, because I most certainly am. I had _years_ to get all worked up and excited for it. We will have so much FUN!"

What had started out in a menacing whisper, turned into utter glee during the last part of the little rant, after which Moriarty quickly finished his tea.

"Is that so? I could always call Mycroft, I suppose. He did lock you away without giving you a trial before, when you threatened to have me jump off a roof. What's to stop him now, that he has already done so in the past?" Sherlock challenged drily and held the insane stare that was thrown his way.

"Oh, I don't know, honey. Maybe the fact that you are the one that let me out will stop Mycroft from ever knowing that I'm here. I doubt that you'd want to turn me in, since that would mean turning in yourself alongside me. We both know that Mycroft will believe me once I reveal how I pulled this little stunt just in time for you to be rescued from that dull exile of yours."

At this, Sherlock got up, lips pressed together in a thin line. "Just stay away from my friends. No playing dirty this time. If I ever see a red dot on John's face again, we're both going to prison. With no one left outside that would have the ability and willingness to get either of us out. And don't you dare doubt these words. You know they're true."

Moriarty's eyes darted over Sherlock's face and body, carefully assessing him and every word that had just come out of his mouth in a cold whisper, before giving an irritated snarl. "We'll see."

With that, he left the flat, but not before doing another one-eighty mood swing and sing-songing: "Nice talking to you! See ya later~"

Sherlock found it hard to fight the excitement that had unintentionally spread all throughout his body. The game was back on. The good game. The exciting game. The game that didn't involve peeing on furniture or flicking people's faces. A grin began to cover his entire face.

Still, he had to remember John, Mrs. Hudson, everybody that was close to him. He couldn't let them be pulled into Moriarty's terror games again, just because he had gotten bored. Itching to finally get a proper challenge was no reason to risk their lives. At least not if he could help it.

His eyes darted around the room as he tried to assess whether or not Moriarty had done anything besides making tea and eating the apple.

On the kitchen table he found a rectangular object, covered in lime green wrapping paper, a pink ribbon giving the present its final touch. From Moriarty's behavior so far, Sherlock was pretty positive about the contents of his gift being non-threatening. Thus, he went over to the table with a couple of brisk strides and picked it up, before giving it a sharp look.

If the present didn't come from Moriarty, Sherlock would have bet his life on his deduction, that it contained a CD or DVD of some sort. However, knowing that the criminal mastermind was behind this, he only assumed there to be about a fifty-fifty chance that the package actually contained what it was made to look like. Ripping off the green paper in a swift motion revealed that his first guess had been true.

The disc looked like a store-bought recordable CD on which Sherlock really expected to find anything, ranging from a live murder to a mocking declaration of love or even a new puzzle for him to solve. The last one would be nice, what with Magnussen out of the way and nothing else to do to ward off his boredom.

Although it didn't turn out to be the clue to his next mind blowing challenge, the video didn't fail to deliver the excitement that Sherlock had hoped for. He didn't know how Moriarty had gotten his hands on the tape, since he had barely left his cell a couple of hours ago, but that wasn't too important as he was currently sitting in his now Moriarty-free armchair and chuckling at Mycroft's expression when he had found out about the consulting criminal's escape. His entire reaction had been caught on tape and plastered together from varying sources into a nice little movie about his brother during this time of despair. Not bad at all.

The end.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**0. Reviews etc.  
>1. About the story<br>2. Continuation  
>3. Beta<strong>

**0.** Thanks for the reviews, follows and/or favs to **jokergirl4ever**,** writer's legend**, **NekoHK**, **Polyjuice Princess**, and** DarkWolf005**.

**1.** So, I really hope that no one has picked up this idea yet, but after watching HLV I just couldn't help myself. I just had to write this down.  
>I hope you enjoyed what I wrote. If you did,<strong> leave me a review<strong> to let me know what you liked or disliked.

**2.** I have planned out the stories and it looks like there are going to be three of them. The first one will probably be finished by April. I'll finish a story before posting it, so there's probably going to be a bit of a wait in-between, because I'm somewhat of a slow writer (well, I write quickly but I have long periods where I don't write at all or write original fiction instead).

I will include parts of a couple of different ACD stories, including _The Valley of Fear_ which **writer's legend** mentioned in a review. While I'm at it, I'll also lower the rating. Thanks for pointing that out, I'm a bit paranoid when it comes to rating stuff ;)

As before, if you want to be notified of the sequel, you can simply follow this story and I will update it once I start posting it.

**3.** This story has **_not _been beta-read**. However, it has been spell-checked. If you find mistakes/plot-holes, please tell me. I have produced inconsistencies in the past when working on my own little stories and was lucky enough to have a beta-reader that kept nagging until I fixed things that at first I didn't even believe were too bad. But I usually fixed or changed whatever she told me to and later, I always figured out, that the suggested changes actually improved the story and or characters greatly in the long run, so go ahead and criticize. I can take it if it's justified.  
>Also note that English isn't my first language, so I do expect there to be at least a couple of rather awkward phrases or miss-used words for you to point out.<p>

**I'd really appreciate a beta reader for the sequel(s). A British one would be perfect, but any native speaker is still very much welcome to point out mistakes and plot-holes. Seriously, I tend to fall face first into my very own giant holes and I don't even notice it. At least not until it's too late. Help.**

**Reviews and reviewers are deeply appreciated and cherished.**

So long!


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